


Choices

by bunnyangel



Series: In This Reality [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 911 Words, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Completely Intentional Baby Acquisition, Dad!Buck, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Gen, Parent Evan "Buck" Buckley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyangel/pseuds/bunnyangel
Summary: In this reality, Buck fulfills his own obligation.
Series: In This Reality [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146413
Comments: 4
Kudos: 168
Collections: 911: What's Your Word Count?





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd flash fiction with exactly 911 words.

Buck's been standing long enough in front of the hospital doors that the gazes from the front desk have cycled from curious to suspicious to concerned and back again. The phantom weight of Bobby's hand is heavy on his shoulder and his words are weights around Buck's ankles.

He even hears the Sergeant, low and furious. She was right, as much as he hates to admit. It was a kid having a kid. He gets that. He gets being so scared of your parents that you would do anything to avoid the discovery of your fuck up.

He understands, but he doesn't know if he can forgive it because he had held that fragile little life in his hands; felt the shallow, gasping, _labored_ breaths and wondered _how could she_ make that choice?

Common sense says he shouldn't get attached, but he can still feel the way his fingers had curled around tiny limbs, too cool and too small and too still and too slick with blood and amniotic fluid and lubricant and human waste. She had been feather light and feather soft and yet even now his heart sits heavy in his chest--uncertain and faltering because he still doesn't know if hers still is, and he...he hopes she's alive. He hopes her mom has come to her senses.

His phone chirps and his stomach drops when he checks it. For a moment he wavers because he'd forgotten about his Tindr date. There's a curious sort of anxiety because he still has time. He can just walk away and leave it at the door like his Captain recommended; still make his date and charm her with his heroic story. It's simple and it's easy and it's predictable, by now.

His feet stay rooted, though, because he...sort of...doesn't want to...?

Certain things seem so pale in comparison--to cradling a premature infant and promising that everything was okay. The choice sitting in front of him doesn't really seem like one at all.

He looks up at the hospital doors again and slowly slides his phone back into his pocket.

He takes a deep breath, and steps through them.

Emma comes home with him on a Tuesday morning, almost six months after their first meeting. She's finally strong enough, and he's finally, he hopes, somewhat ready.

It's a new place for both of them. His former place and former roommates hadn't really been suitable for raising an infant.

Most days he still thinks that nothing about him is suitable for raising an infant.

He's lucky. Despite a less than stellar childhood, he's led a carefree--no, a care _less_ life--and in another reality, in any of his own series of mistakes, Emma's mother could have easily been him. He still doesn't forgive her, even if he still more than understands.

And he's privileged. He's very aware that most people don't have a trust fund they can readily dip into, vows to _never again_ notwithstanding. They don't have a legacy law firm on retainer, the best that generations of his family money could buy for this custody battle against the state, because a young, single firefighter isn't exactly an ideal parent.

His parents will also know soon, if they haven't already. It's a toss up as to whether this will count as a fuck up or not--or if it will even count at all. Going by the past decade he'd say the latter, but that just serves as a painful reminder that the one person he _does_ want to call hasn't picked up in years either.

Emma burbles sleepily as he lets them into the loft. He sets his keys on the counter and looks around. There's something like warm satisfaction bubbling as he looks around the empty spaces just waiting to be filled.

And maybe this isn't exactly child friendly either, what with the stairs and the single loft bedroom area, but it checks most of the boxes on such a short notice. It's closest to the station and even closer to the nanny he's vetted. The neighbors are all elderly and either retired or often on vacation. Mrs. Jenkins is going to love her so much. Most importantly, it's quiet and safe and _theirs_.

He heads upstairs and settles Emma down in the bedside sleeper.

Then he sits down and just stares at her; can't help but run one finger down the curve of one chubby little cheek. He's got maybe a year before the baby gates have to go up, and maybe two, possibly three, before they really have to renovate, or move, to get her her own room. Who needs a living room anyway?

And he hasn't known her very long, but there's warmth in the hollow space beneath his breastbone that he hadn't even known needed to be filled. Everything that he is and will be, for her. This tiny little life he had helped saved and won't abandon for _anything_.

"I know it's not gonna be easy," he says softly. He has no delusions that single parents have it easy, despite all the help he's getting. Emma still also has a long way to go before her doctors can give her the all clear. "But you're a Buckley now, and we're fighters."

He reaches in again and takes that tiny, fisted little hand, swallowing the inexplicable lump in his throat when those fragile fingers spread open to greet him.

"We'll fight together."


End file.
